The Fellowship In My Attic
by WT Khin
Summary: Instead of being transported to a fictional world, the characters of Ruth's favourite trilogy of tumble out of her wardrobe. She develops close bonds with them. Will she be able to help them find their way back to Middle-Earth and save their own world before Sauron takes over, or will they be stuck in the modern world forever? When the time comes, will she be able to let them go?
1. Chapter 1

'_She's right. This is exactly the way the fairytale was supposed to go. Except this time, when I glance up, I don't see the words THE END written above my head._

_I guess that's because it's just the beginning._'

I close the book with a sigh. I lost count of how many times I've read that book, and think to myself, Between the Lines_: giving fan-girls false hope since it was first published – whenever _that w_as._ I prop myself up with my elbows from where I'm lying on my bed, and look over at my bookshelf. My dad got me a new bookshelf, installed in my room this time, and it's already bursting: I have the entire _Harry Potter _series, _Percy Jackson and the Olympians_, _Heroes of Olympus_, _The Chronicles of Narnia_, _The Hunger Games _trilogy, _The Hobbit_, _The Lord of the Rings_, and the _Divergent_ trilogy. Can you say obsessed?

Most people my age, which is going-on-eighteen, go clubbing, hang out with friends, take pictures and post them on Instagram, are dating… and then, there's me. All my life, I've never had a boyfriend. And considering how much time I spend fantasizing over fictional guys… _good luck with that, Ruth._

I'm an introvert. I just have a circle of about six very close friends, and a few other good friends here and there, but most of them time, people don't really notice me. My face is the type that's easily forgotten, with my thick dark hair which I let down to my shoulders, my bare face and olive skin. And I'm very shy and quiet, that I have no trouble just blending into the background, so to speak.

I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering what it would be like to live in the worlds of one of those books. Well, no. I definitely wouldn't want to live in Panem. Nor would I like to live in the world of _Divergent_. But how could I say no to Hogwarts? I idly finger my Ravenclaw sweater as I imagine myself conjuring a Patronus – I always imagined my Patronus would take the form of an owl, but who could tell? Camp-Half Blood would be rather fun too – I'd love to be a daughter of Athena, or at least a legacy of the great goddess of wisdom. And Middle-Earth? What I would give to be able to see the Shire, or meet the elves!

The shrill ringing of my alarm disrupts my thoughts, and I grumble as I turn it off. I'm an early riser, so the alarm isn't to wake me up: it's to tell me it's high time I get my butt off the bed and get ready for school. Oh joy…

School goes by in a blur – a really long and insufferable blur of trying very hard not to doze off in lessons, cursing under my breath when I can't solve a Math problem, forcing down tasteless canteen food, and receiving judgmental looks from people who seem to be under the impression that I perpetually have my nose in a book (which I can't deny is fairly accurate). The only bearable part of school is being able to talk to my few close friends, those who appreciate books too.

When I get home, I throw my schoolbag on the bed and decide to watch _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe _before I start on my homework. I'm home alone, as usual, since both my parents are out, so I ready the TV and the DVD player, and then throw myself on the couch.

As Lucy steps into Narnia for the first time, my phone rings. I seethe and mutter a stream of curses as I hit the pause button and answer it. My Mum is on the line: she wants me to check if there are any more mothballs in my wardrobe. NOW. She has to know, because she needs to know if she would have to buy a new packet on her way home, since she got off work early.

_Dammit._ That means I can't watch my movie, or she'll bite my head off for procrastinating, and threaten to lock my books up in the attic. I promise that I'd call her back if I'm out of moth balls, hang up my phone, and head upstairs to my room. What I was not expecting was to hear the voices of men shouting, and violent pounding – coming from my wardrobe.

I'm at home alone – what am I to do? And how the bloody hell did whoever these idiots are manage to get themselves locked in my wardrobe? Heck, how'd they get in there in the first place? They couldn't have broken in. My hands tremble, but I will myself to grab the nearest thing in case I need to defend myself – I grab my bedside lamp. I don't know how that's be of much use if these men are armed. The pounding is getting progressively louder, and my heart is pounding too.

'I'm using me axe!' I gruff voice decided.

_Oh no, you don't, buster!_ I open rush forward to open my wardrobe door just as the axe-guy yells what sounds like a battle cry. I was _not_ at all prepared for what comes next: nine people – four little men, a stout bearded man slightly shorter than me, three tall and stately men, and one old man clad in grey tumble out of my wardrobe and land in a heap on my bedroom floor.

'_What – the – fuck!_' is all I manage to say, gaping at them.


	2. Chapter 2

What I first notice about these housebreakers is their style of dress: they're all wearing cloaks, and look like they jumped out of a story. The old man is holding a wooden staff, and something tells me its uses aren't limited to simply supporting him while he walks. One of the tall men is beautiful, in an ethereal, transcendental sort of way. A light seems to shine through him, and his hair is a very pale blonde – almost silvery. And he has pointy ears. The other two tall men look like soldiers from old times, with their swords and shields. And the four little men – they looked pretty harmless. They barely reached my waste, and they had hairy feet. I couldn't but find them cute, the way I find little children cute. And then there's the guy with the axe: his beard is all messy, and he has beady eyes and a stout build. He's not much taller than the four little men.

'How did you get in here?' I bark, not daring to lower my lamp. I don't see how it'll be of much use against their weapons, so I guess I'm going crazy right there. I'm trembling all over. I don't at all like the prospect of being home alone with nine strange men.

One of the little men approached me, and I instinctively raise the lamp, ready to take a swing, as I hysterically scream, 'Stay away from me!' Another small man rushes in front of him, shielding him, and looks up at me, his jaw set.

'You will not harm Mister Frodo!' he pipes up.

I drop the lamp at his words. I feel like the whole world is spinning, and I clutch my head, not being able to process all this. _Did he just say what I think he said?_

'Who – who – are – you?' I finally manage to say, my voice barely audible.

The only one who seems to hear me is the lithe pointy-eared man.

'Young child, are you feeling all right?' he asks.

I bristle at what he called me. 'I'll have you know, I'm going-on-eighteen!' I snap, forgetting that my world was spinning just a moment ago.

'Be careful, Lass,' says the stout and bearded one with the axe, as I stumble, almost drunkenly.

'Role-playing time is over,' I say, steadying myself. 'Who are you all, really?'

'What is this role-playing you speak of?' asks one of the small men. None of these tiny men look like children, no matter how they arouse my child-adoring instincts.

'You know, you all acting like you're actually The Fellowship from _Lord of the Rings_,' I say dismissively.

That answer did it. They all look suddenly alert, and there's a change in their eyes. They don't look at me like a little girl lost in the woods anymore, but there's something hostile in their eyes.

'How did you come to know of our Fellowship?' one of the soldierly men demands, taking a few steps forward.

'Stay where you are!' I shout, grabbing the nearest thing I could, which happens to be my foldable chair.

'Calm yourself, Boromir,' says the old man, 'I do not sense any malevolence in her.'

'You – you're not supposed to exist,' I blurt. 'You're fictional. You're from stories. You don't exist!'

'Stories?' repeats the other soldier, who looks somehow wiser than the one who had advanced.

'Aragorn,' I address him, and he stiffens. I take a deep breath, and name each of them, looking each one in the eye as I do so.

'Please tell me you're all role-playing, that you somehow all managed to get amnesia, and now think you're the characters you role-played as,' I plead, fearing for my sanity.

'We do not understand,' says the guy dressed as Legolas. His voice is musical and pleasant.

'Bloody hell,' I mutter under my breath, and they all look shocked.

'That is no language for a young lady,' Aragorn admonishes.

I'm about to talk back, but I hear footsteps at the front door. I feel panic rising like a lump up my throat. _Mum's back._

'Scold me later, hide now!' I say.

'Hide? From whom?' asks one of the hobbits. Frodo.

'My mother – do you know what she could do if she sees me home alone with nine guys?' I whisper.

I lead them up the stairs, meaning to hide them in the attic, when Mum pushes open the door and steps in. _Too late_. I mentally start writing my will, as she calls out my name, and makes her way up the stairs. I see her shadow approaching, and I mutter curses under my breath, dreading the moment where she sees the supposed Fellowship, and grounds me until I'm forty.

'Ruth, are you feeling all right?' she asks.

I resist the urge to flinch when I hear her voice, and force myself to look up, feeling sick to the stomach. 'Mum, I can explain,' I say weakly.

'Explain what?'

I jab my finger in the direction of the Fellowship, who are all standing behind me. She looks past me, and furrows her eyebrows.

'What am I supposed to see?'

I turn around. The Fellowship are all standing right there. Right behind me. Watching the two of us with bated breath.

'Mum, there are nine weird people behind me.'

'Ruth, there's no one there.'


	3. Chapter 3

The next thing I know, I'm lying on my bed. The curtains are drawn, and I look at my watch. It's already seven. I dismiss whatever happened as just a dream, and as I prop myself up on my elbows, Mum walks in. She notices me, and rushes in.

'You're not going to school tomorrow,' she says.

'Wait, what?' I ask. 'What happened? I'm fine!'

'You _fainted_, Ruth. You went all pale and fainted,' she replies sternly, arms crossed.

'Why would I faint? I'm not weak!'

'I'm not saying you're weak. Maybe you're just not feeling well. Is school getting too hard for you? Are you overworking? Are you getting enough sleep?' Without waiting for my answers, she hands me a glass of water, and a few pills.

'What are these for?'

'You're hallucinating,' she says. 'About what?'

'You kept babbling about nine people – you were mumbling strange names in your sleep. I'm locking your books up until you get better.'

I leap up, off the bed. 'Locking away my books?' I demand, 'You can't do that!'

'I just did,' she says crossly. 'Mum, you can't blame my books for this! I'm perfectly sane! The Fellowship, they were here!'

I realize, as I said the last five words, that I hadn't been dreaming. The Fellowship really did tumble out of my wardrobe. Or did they? Have I been, as Mum said, hallucinating?

Mum just looks at me strangely, as if afraid I might get too upset and pass out again or something. She walks out of the room without another word, and for the first time ever, she closes the door behind her. I can't help but smirk, satisfied, as I think,_ I could get used to this_, when I remember the Fellowship. Where are they now?

'I thought she would never leave!' a little voice pipes up, and I almost jump out of my skin in fright. Pippin's – at least, I think it's Pippin's – head pops out from my pile of plush toys, in a corner of my room. He's grinning, as he dashes to the door, opens it, and disappears, just as I was about to call out, 'Wait!'

I'm left alone in my room again, but not for long. The Fellowship file into my room, all nine of them, and they all watch me steadily. There's genuine concern and worry in their eyes, but I can't help but wonder if they're more worried that they can't get back to their own world – provided they're aware that they're no longer in their own world.

'Ruth,' Sam says uncertainly, and I nod, 'Can you tell us where in Middle-Earth we are? Why we're here?'

I shake my head apologetically. 'I don't know how you appeared in my wardrobe of all places, Sam, or why, for that matter. But you're no longer in Middle-Earth. And you're in a different time, if that makes sense to you. Welcome to the twenty-first century.' I add the last part someone wryly, but none of them are amused. And I can't blame them for it: every moment they spend here is a moment lost from their quest, and that's provided the time here runs just like it does in Middle-Earth.

But things have to end well, they just have to. The storyline can't change. They had to find their way to destroy the ring somehow. Or are the books rewriting themselves now? I try to think of something to say to the Fellowship, to break the silence, but all I manage to get out of my mouth is, 'Umm…' Real _eloquent, Ruth_. I resist the urge to facepalm.

'So umm… do any of you know where my mother hid my books?' I ask. 'I saw her place them in the room you tried to lead us to,' said Merry. 'Oh good,' I say with relief. I think about asking one of them to get their trilogy for me, but change my mind immediately. If any of them chance to read it, I don't know what would happen. How would Boromir react to the scene of his death, for starters? They might have been pulled out of their own story, but I still don't believe in tampering with the storyline. I'd be ruining an epic masterpiece.

I get up, and walk to the door. 'You can all just… make yourselves at home. There's no need to hide. My mum can't see you guys anyway,' I say, and I close the door behind me, and make a beeline for the attic.

I tiptoe up the stairs, wishing I could be as quiet as a hobbit. Every step I take sounds magnified, but that's probably just my paranoia getting to me.

As soon as I'm in the attic, I spot exactly what I'm looking for: a piece of cloth draped over what could've been mistaken for a box – but I know better, because this particular piece of cloth isn't blanketed in dust like the other pieces of cloth in the attic. I resist the urge to run over to my precious books, and crouch next to the pile. I find _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, easy, and I open _The Fellowship of the Ring_. I don't know why I'm flipping through its pages now, but I feel like it's important for me to know where they wandered off the plot, off the pages of the book writing their destinies. While flipping through the pages, I notice that the pages start becoming blank eventually. I flip back to where the blank pages start, and read the chapter title: _Chapter IV: A Journey In The Dark_… and yet, before my very eyes, the words are changing. I shake my head like I'm trying to shake off a pesky fly, and do a double-take. The chapter title has now changed to _A Journey In The New World_. My hands tremble violently, like I've lost control of my nerves, and the book falls to the floor.


End file.
